The Date
by Bears Eat Beets
Summary: or, Everyone Else Wrote It, Why Can't I? Look, I know we have bigger events pending, but it all had to start somewhere, right? Right. Here's my take. Please do enjoy. Rated mostly for the language - sorry, I loves the swears now and then! Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

**JIM**

Wow, is that sun ever bright.

Yep, that's the first thought that crosses my mind as I leave Dunder Mifflin's corporate offices. It seems like it should be more profound, considering what I had just done five minutes ago, but that's what I come up with: the sun is really bright.

Just call me Jim Halpert, keen observer.

I may not have had a particularly stimulating thought, but physically I'm a live wire. The neurons in my body must be firing on overdrive because I feel electric – literally, like if I were to touch someone I'd give them a serious shock. Describing it that way is kind of ironic, considering what I'm about to do. I take a seat on one of the benches outside the building and pull my cell phone out of my pocket. Pausing to take a deep breath, I hit three on my speed dial.

"Hello?"

"Hey," I say, trying to keep my tone light.

"Hey yourself! How'd it go?"

"Um, it went okay."

"Just okay?"

"Well, I didn't get the job."

"How do you know? They already told you?"

"Not exactly. I kind of…told them."

There's a pause. "I don't understand," she finally says.

"I told David I didn't want to be considered for the job anymore."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because I don't want it."

"You don't want it." It's not a question. "When did you decide this?"

I rub the back of my neck, still a little surprised there's no hair there. "Officially? About ten minutes ago."

"Hold on a second, I'll be back," I hear her say, no doubt to her friends. On top of everything else, I'm ruining her girls' lunch too. "Halpert, what is going on?" she asks a moment later. She sounds worried. I feel like an asshole. I take another deep breath.

"Karen, I think…no, I know I'm meant to stay in Scranton," I admit, closing my eyes.

"Why?" But her tone tells me she already knows the answer. I don't say anything for a minute. "You couldn't have decided this last week, at the beach? Isn't that what brought this on?" She's no longer worried. She's pissed. I can't blame her in the least.

"I'm sorry." God, it's so lame, but it's all I can come up with.

"You're sorry? You're _sorry_? What am I supposed to do with that, Jim?"

"I…I don't know." I'm about to make it even worse. "But I need to go back."

"What, now?"

I sigh. "Yeah."

"I'm assuming you mean _without _me." I don't respond. She doesn't say anything else. There's a silence so long I pull my phone away from my ear to make sure I haven't lost the call. Finally, Karen laughs in disbelief. "Are you _kidding _me? What am I supposed to do?"

"Um…I…don't know."

"What exactly _do _you know, Jim – aside from the fact that you're going to throw everything away for _her_?" she spits. Not that I'd word it that way, but honestly, at this point, that's as far as I've gotten. So I remain quiet. Again. "Where are you?"

"Outside corporate."

"So you haven't checked out of the hotel yet."

"No."

Another endless silence from her. "Leave my suitcase at the front desk when you do. Tell them I'll pick it up later. Can you at least do _that _for me?" She still sounds angry, but I can hear her fighting off tears, too.

"Of course." Another sigh from me. "Karen, I'm so sorry that I…that I got you caught up in this."

"Not as sorry as me."

And with that she hangs up.

--

As I start the long trek back to Scranton I search the radio, trying to find something to keep my mind occupied. Thankfully the Phillies are playing a day game against the Mets. As long as I don't hit any nasty traffic, I know I can count on it as a distraction for the whole trip. This is the first time I've ever driven this route, but weirdly enough I'm not having any trouble navigating. I know where to turn, when to merge into another lane. I'm on autopilot.

I know you may not believe it, but I do feel guilty about what I've done to Karen. How can I not? She's a truly great person – smart, funny, caring, ambitious, attractive - and if I wasn't…well, me, I couldn't think of a better girlfriend for someone. She'd almost been tricked, even though I hadn't meant to; she had met and fallen for a different Jim. A Jim who was trying like hell to put everything he'd been through in Scranton behind him and start again. Eventually a Jim that was willing to open himself up to someone. And Karen seemed like she could be that someone. No, she wasn't Pam. Of course she wasn't. But that was part of why I thought it could work. As strange as this may sound I don't feel guilty about our time together in Stamford, because it was genuine. Had the branch never closed, maybe we could have made it.

But it did close.

Even though I had told Jan I wasn't sure I could go back to Scranton, I knew deep down it was unavoidable. After all I did to leave, it seems stupid, I know, but when she brought it up my immediate instinct was to just say yes. I should never have asked Karen to go, though. At the time I thought everything would be okay, although I'm still not sure how. Why I was going back, in my heart, was in direct conflict to inviting her along. This is awful, but I guess I thought Karen could serve as a…buffer, or something. I don't know. It's still not clear to me now. That's why I feel guilty: because as much as I hoped things would be different in Scranton the second time around I knew they wouldn't be. Dragging Karen into that situation was an awful thing to do. It was never my intention to hurt her, but you know about the road to hell.

I don't say this because I think it justifies anything, but look: no one in this situation has gotten away unscathed. Karen is just the latest victim. Then again, no one is totally free from blame, either. At first, and for a long time, it was just me in pain. And you can say I brought it on myself, that's fine, but I had as much choice in falling in love with Pam as the earth has in revolving around the sun. But when I told Pam I loved her, I kind of passed the hurt along; it was like a cursed chain letter or something. She called off her wedding, she hurt Roy. By the time I came back, I know now that she had realized she felt the same way about me that I did – do – about her, and she must've had so much hope that we could actually be together. I also know – from first-hand experience – it probably broke her heart to see me with Karen. She tried (and succeeded), to get to me by getting back with Roy (and Roy brought hurting to an all new level when he set out to beat the crap out of me). Karen, in her own ways, had set out to make it known to Pam that I was hers. We'd all played a part, just doing what we had to to get by.

When Pam made her speech last week on the beach, though, she kind of brought us full circle. She did the same thing I'd done a year ago – she was finally honest, and to hell with the consequences. And as she looked in my eyes and said what she had…man, it was like each word tore a chunk out of the wall I'd built around myself. In that moment, any illusion I'd had that I'd finally gotten over her was completely shattered. I hadn't. I never would. For that whole week I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do. For lack of any other idea I decided to still try for the job in New York, but I don't know that my heart was ever in it. I couldn't answer Karen when she questioned me on our future. I guess I was in emotional limbo, waiting for one more sign.

And I got it, in the form of a phone message slip and a yogurt lid.

That's why I turned down a ludicrously better job opportunity. That's why I pulled the biggest douchebag move of all time and dumped a girl any guy would love to date, and over the phone. That's why I'm driving a full ten miles an hour over the speed limit on west I-80, trying to get more interested in a three and one count on Ryan Howard with Chase Utley on third. Because I know that in doing all that, no matter how wrong it is, I'm finally going to make things right. At least for her and me. More than right, really – the way things are supposed to be. That last-ditch effort on the night of the casino charity event, it was the act of a man on the edge. A last hurrah. And as terrible as I felt for so long afterwards, I can't ever regret doing it. That night I understood what it meant to be truly, unconditionally happy. Each second, from when our lips met until right before she whispered my name in warning, was perfect. To know that your life can open up like that, let you feel that way – even if for just a moment? Believe me: it's a sensation you'd chase until the end of time.

--

Pulling into the parking lot, I don't stop to think about what I'm doing, or what to say. I don't need to. I've been thinking about it for four years; I figure I'm as prepared as I'm going to get.

I walk into the office, expecting to see Pam at her usual post. Reception is empty. Dwight looks up from his desk, his eyes narrowed.

"What are _you _doing here?" he demands, more surprised than angry.

"Where's Pam?"

"I said what are you—"

"Dwight, not now. Where is Pam?"

He jerks his head toward the conference room. "Interview."

I head for the door, opening it without knocking. Everyone turns to look at me – the camera guy (and thus the camera), Steve the DP, and-

"Pam?" In an outfit no different than what she wears every other day, she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Her eyes are wide with shock and her mouth is a little 'o.' Steve looks almost as surprised. "Sorry," I say to him quickly, then focus on Pam again. "Are you free for dinner tonight?"

She blinks. "Yes," she says simply. I feel myself starting to grin.

"All right. Then…it's a date." I share my half smile with her, then shut the door. My blood is pounding in my ears. I make a beeline for the main door.

"Hey, Jim," Kevin calls, coming my way with notepad in hand. "I finished that list for you."

"Wow, um, thanks Kev. Mind if I check it out tomorrow?" I ask, not even coming to a full stop.

"Sure. And if I think of any more before then I'll just-"

"Sounds great, man. I'll see ya!" I'm out the door before I finish answering. Too geared up to wait for the elevator, I opt for the stairs. As I'm charging down them I hear her yes echo in my head, matching the rhythm of my steps.

That's it. I did it.

I'm going out with Pam.


	2. Chapter 2

**JIM**

Ten minutes later I've relegated myself to my car. I'm still wound up as all hell, but after getting laughed at by a group of stupid kids who caught me doing Rocky-like jogging and fist pumps - for maybe five seconds, okay? - when I walked out the door I figure I'm probably better off. Instead I'm here in the Saab, listening to Queen's "Don't Stop Me Now" on repeat. I know the connotation's a little…um…it's heavy handed at times, yeah. But it's really just one of my favorite songs and it suits my mood.

My mood that drops when I realize – finally – that I just asked Pam on a date and then walked right out of the office. No plan discussed. No time agreed on. Nothing.

What. A. Dork.

I pull out my cell phone and dial the number for the front desk, hoping she's done with her interview. "Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam," she answers, and – despite my better judgment – I've got to give Michael credit. You can definitely hear the difference when she has a smile on her face. My own smile widens in turn.

"Dunder Mifflin, this is Jim," I reply. An oldie but a goodie.

"Hey." The smile is still there.

"Hi."

"Um, did you leave already?"

"Yeah. Well, kind of. I'm in the parking lot."

"Oh."

"I was trying to avoid questions or…whatever."

"I completely understand."

"Are the cameras right there?"

"Actually, no. Steve is packing up for the day. I'm kinda shocked."

"Me too."

"So you're sitting in the parking lot, huh?" She's holding back a laugh, no doubt at what a dork I just re-realized I am.

"Well, here's the thing. Maybe you can help."

"Okay. I'll do my best."

"I asked a girl in the office on a date for tonight, right?"

"Right. What'd she say?"

"Yes, amazingly enough."

"Congratulations!"

"Thank you. Anyway, I was so caught up in the moment-"

"Understandably."

"-and then excited she said yes I sort of forgot to actually make plans with her."

"Ah. Rookie move."

"You're telling me. It's embarrassing, really."

"I'd be _mortified_!"

"_That_ seems a bit harsh."

"No, I think it fits."

"Wow. You really think so?"

"Yeah, I really do."

"Probably best I just scrap the whole thing at this point, huh?"

"I would."

"Damn."

"Sorry. Just my honest opinion."

"So you don't think this girl would have any interest in me picking her up at seven for dinner?"

"I doubt it. Well, wait, a casual dinner or a more formal one?"

"I was thinking casual."

"Oh, yeah. Then it's definitely over."

"Oh well. Thanks for your advice, anyway."

"No problem. If you need anything else, just call."

"I'll do that. I've got the whole night free, so…"

"Okay. Great. Take care."

"Hey, you too."

"Bye, Jim."

"Later, Beesly." I let out the laugh I'd bitten back through the whole conversation and start my car.

* * *

**PAM**

At 3:45 I knock softly at Michael's door. He doesn't respond. "Michael?" Still no answer. "Michael?" I try again, a little louder.

"What is it, Pam?"

"Can I come in?"

More nothing, then finally, "Yeah, I guess so."

I open the door and step in quickly, shutting it again behind me. Michael's just sitting there, his forehead resting on his desktop. I know things went badly for him today at corporate, and I really hate seeing him like this. I promise, on any other day I really would have done my best to cheer him up, but today…today's a little different. Okay, more than a little. In the next three hours I have to get home, clean my apartment, take a shower, get ready and maybe take a minute or two to freak out. Could I do all of this in less time? Maybe. Do I want to? No. Enter Fancy New Beesly to try and get me out of here.

"Are you all right?" I ask quietly. He heaves a deep sigh and slowly raises his head.

"I'm fine," he says in his way that suggests the exact opposite. Any other day, I swear I would have pressed it further.

"Okay, well, I was wondering-"

"Pam," he interrupts, looking up at me sadly, "do you think they're happy I'm back?"

"Who?"

He waves a hand towards the door. "Everyone. Stanley. Ryan. Everyone."

Although I had fun with Dwight today, I'm pretty sure I was the only one. Besides Angela. "Of course, Michael," I say as cheerily as possible.

"How can you be so sure?"

"It's just…it wouldn't be the same here without you." That's true enough.

"What's better with me here?"

"Oh…everything. But Michael, I actually-"

Michael cocks his head to the side. "What do you _really _think of Jan, Pam?" he whispers. "Do you think we should be living together? Is it too soon for that?"

Oh no, I cannot start talking him through this now. I'm not even sure what's going on. "Michael, I-"

"I mean, how do you _really _know? How can you? It _seems _like a good idea, but there are these…_rules _she has, and I think her pain killers from the boob surgery have made her _crazy_, and-"

"Michael, I'm sure everything will work out just fine, and I really think…that…Phyllis may be able to help you more with this. Being a newlywed and all." Does that even make sense? Michael thinks about it for a minute and finally nods.

"Yeah, I guess she has been in more successful relationships than you lately." I nod slowly. He sighs again, then smiles. "Fine. What do you need, Pam…Pam-a…Pam-Pam-a-Rama?"

Pam-Pam-a-Rama…Bananarama? Whatever. I figure it's a good sign if he's using a nickname. "I'm sorry, but I really need to leave early today. Doctor's appointment." If anyone can forge a good note, it's Jim.

"Oh. Okay." His face falls slightly. I do feel a little bad. Seriously, _any _other day!

"Thanks, Michael." I give him my most consoling smile and try not to run back to my desk to grab my things.

--

I glance at my alarm clock again. It's 6:24. I have a half hour or so until Jim gets here, and I'm standing in my bedroom in a bathrobe. I've been standing here for almost an hour, just staring into my closet. I hate it, but I'm stuck in the middle of the biggest cliché ever: I'm a girl with nothing to wear. Well, as it always goes with that cliché, it's not _exactly_ true. I have a closet full of clothes – a small closet – but most of those are my boring work things or bum-around sweats and pajamas. I've started branching out a little over the last few months, picking up a cute top every now and then on sale or at the outlets, but overall I'm still lacking in the fashion department. As much as Jim may have started liking me while I was in my cardigans and button up blouses, I'm pretty sure I don't want him dating me in them.

Wow, did I just use "Jim" and "dating me" in the same sentence? It's making me grin like a dork…and doing _nothing _for the nerves.

I need to make some sort of decision, and soon. Thankfully I've already straightened up the apartment (it doesn't take long; I've only got four rooms), and done my makeup (again, not too time-consuming – if I'm lacking in fashion there's no word for how little makeup I have!). I scan my closet again. Casual. Casual means…well, not dressy. Not looking like I tried too hard. But still cute. I shake my head, clenching and unclenching my hands a few times. I'm making this harder than it really is. Right? "Just pick something," I mutter. Jim's not going to leave me on my porch based on an outfit. Finally, I take a deep breath, step forward and reach for a shirt. Once it's in my hand I study it critically.

It's just a little white peasant top. Short sleeves. Some flowers embroidered around the neckline in blues and greens. Light weight but not see through. Cute. Not too fancy. Much different from what I wear everyday, but something I'll still be comfortable in. I let out the breath I've been holding.

This is as good as it's going to get.

Once I jump that hurdle the rest isn't too bad. I put on a denim skirt and a pair of those cute little flats, both of which I find at the back of the closet - I bought them months ago but still haven't worn either yet. Once it's all on I step in front of my mirror. I look…different. Not bad. I need something, though. I dig through my jewelry box and find a small strand of turquoise beads from my mom that matches the embroidery in my shirt exactly. One more mirror check.

Standing here for so long makes me feel a little uncomfortable. I don't usually spend much time in front of the mirror. Why would I? I work in an office where it's definitely better to _not_ get attention for how I look. I'm single now, but before that I was with the same person for nine years, and he wasn't exactly the type that complimented me much. As I'm thinking about it, I realize that before today, there have really only been two other times in recent memory that I've spent so much time on my appearance. Once was for the casino night last year. The other was the day the Stamford people started in Scranton.

I can't help but start blushing. All three of them revolve around Jim.

I press my hands to my cheeks to try and cool them, then run my hands through my hair. Out of sheer habit I was going to pull it back, but I like it better down. I can't help but give mirror Pam a little smile. Do I sound too full of myself saying I think I look pretty? I look like the kind of girl I've been working to become all year: fun, confident and not willing to be a wallflower anymore. It feels strange admitting it, but I'm proud of myself.

I check my clock again: 6:48. I grab my cell phone from my night stand and head to the bathroom for one last spritz of perfume. I've kept the phone next to me all afternoon waiting for Jim's second call. I'm not getting cocky; I'm just waiting for him to figure out he doesn't know where I live.

And like that, the phone rings. I check the display and grin, although my heart starts pounding. "Hello?" I answer as I walk into the living room.

"Hey, Beesly."

"Hey, Jim."

"You're not busy, are you?"

"Nope, not a thing going on."

"Oh good. I think I need your advice again."

I take a seat on the couch and start smoothing one of my throw pillows – I've got to channel my nervousness somehow. "Sure. What's up?"

"Remember that date I was telling you about earlier?"

"Not really…wait, let me think for a minute…" I take a long pause.

"Hey, take your time," he says and I hold in a laugh.

"Oh yeah, yup. I vaguely remember that now. The one you already screwed up?"

"That's the one. I think I did it again."

"Really? What'd you do now?"

"Well, I managed to set up a time, and I know where I'm going to take her, but…wow, this is _so_ embarrassing."

"No kidding."

"I forgot to get directions to her place."

"Oh, Jim."

"I know, I know. What should I do?"

"Well, I guess if she's still willing to go out with you, you should probably tell her where you're at now so she could direct you."

"Okay, so you're saying I should let her know I'm currently at the mall?"

"Right. Hopefully then she'll tell you she doesn't live too far from there."

"I can only hope. How close do you think she might be?"

"Only about ten minutes, I'd guess. Maybe in those apartments on Summit Pointe Drive?"

"Huh. Those are nice, I can totally see her living there."

"She might even tell you she's in apartment 323, and that it's around the back of the complex."

"That would be great if she shared that. Much better than knocking on random doors all night."

"But I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you."

"Oh no, I won't."

"I'll keep my fingers crossed for you."

"Thanks, Pam. That's really nice of you. I appreciate that."

"No problem."

"You have a good night."

"I'll try." I close the phone and sigh. So that's it; now all I have left to do is wait. Of course that may be the hardest part of the day thus far. I look down and see I'm still smoothing the pillow like a crazy person. I consider doing one last mirror check, or maybe another walk through my apartment to make sure I haven't overlooked anything, but instead I stay put on the couch with my pillow. What I really need to do is just calm down. It's really kind of silly that I'm this nervous, anyway. After all, this is different than most first dates. We already know we get along. We know we have a lot to talk about – we have similar senses of humor, we have so many of the same interests, and we know a lot of the same people. And most importantly, we already know how we feel about each other. It's more or less a formality, when you get right down to it.

Watching my hand shake just a little as I run it over the pillow, though, I know I'm doing an awful job convincing myself of that.

It's not all nerves. I think I'm still sort of in shock. We've been joking around like we used to all the time, talking about this date like it doesn't actually involve _us _going out. But it _is _us, and it _is _happening, and it all seems so…surreal. I mean really, how often does someone get something they've really, _really _wanted in life, something that for so long seemed impossible? Not like getting a Christmas present you'd really hoped for, or getting into the college you'd picked above any others. It's more than that. I guess I originally felt that way about getting engaged to Roy, but more because it just seemed like it was the next logical step. It never seemed impossible. After everything Jim and I have been through in the past year, the two of us ever being together was about as unlikely as…well, something _very _unlikely. Since he came back from Connecticut it seems like all we've been doing is growing further and further apart. He was with someone else. For awhile, I was too. In the last few weeks we've hardly talked. Just six hours ago, with him as good as in New York already, I just assumed all hope was lost.

And yet…

"_Are you free for dinner tonight?"_

Five hours ago, he came back. To ask _me _that.

"_All right. Then…it's a date."_

Without warning I feel a tear rolling down my cheek, but I'm smiling as I wipe it away. This kind of thing just doesn't happen. At least, not to me.

I'm not naïve. I know we have a lot to talking ahead of us – there's so much to get caught up on, to explain, maybe even to apologize for. I know some of it will hurt to say, and some of it will hurt to hear. But maybe, no matter how hard the past year's been, it's for the best that this hasn't happened until now, because I know I'm strong enough for all of it.

A knock interrupts my thoughts.

What I _don't _know is if I trust my legs to get me to the door.


	3. Chapter 3

**JIM**

I'm praying it takes Pam an extra minute to get to the door, because I'm having a hell of a time shuffling the two gifts I've brought her behind my back again after freeing up a hand to knock. "Coming!" I hear faintly. Shooting a quick thank you Upstairs, I manage just as I see the knob start to turn.

When the door opens and I see her, it takes all I have not to drop them altogether.

I know it's corny, but I always think she's gorgeous. Tonight, though, she's…wow.

_Amazing._

"Hey," she says shyly, beaming as she tucks one foot behind the other.

"Hi," I manage, fully aware that I must look like _the _biggest idiot as I stand on her doorstep just staring at her. I gotta say, though, I feel slightly better as I see her cheeks turning pinker and pinker. "You look-" I stop as my voice cracks. What am I, fourteen? After clearing my throat I try again. "You look great." She looks down for just a second, her smile widening.

"Thank you. You do too." She steps back. "Do you want to come in?"

"I'd love to," I answer, and do just that. As she moves to shut the door behind us I turn around, keeping my front to her. She gives me a funny look.

"You all right?"

"I am. Pick a hand."

"Um…right?" Shit. I got so caught off guard seeing her I forget which hand holds what. Tightening my grip on each, I shake my head at her.

"Pick again."

"Who is whatever's in your right hand for?" she teases as she points at my left side. I roll my eyes and grin.

"Both hands have something for you. Poor planning on my part. Humor me, Beesly." I hand her the bag.

"Sorry. Ooo, Abby's Candy!" she reads, peeking inside. Her eyes widen as she pulls out the second bag. "That's a lot of jellybeans!"

"To be exact, two pounds of Jelly Bellies. Half are my favorite-"

"Peach-"

"Exactly, and half are yours-"

"Green Apple-"

"Yes, with a few Very Cherry thrown in for fun, because we both like those."

Pam laughs. "Awesome!"

"I figure if I'm going to be hanging around Reception…y'know, more, I could at least provide you with the candy."

She nods. "Very thoughtful of you."

"However, if tonight is a disaster I'd like a verbal agreement that I get to take back the jelly beans. You know, as a consolation prize."

"That seems fair. You have my word."

"Excellent. These you can keep either way." I give her the other present. She giggles as she takes them.

"I love gerber daisies. You didn't have to get me flowers too."

I shrug. "They were backup. Just in case the Jelly Belly idea flopped."

"I thought it was very clever. Thank you." We stand there awkwardly, just smiling at each other. With my hands empty I'm at a loss for what I'm supposed to be doing. I want to touch her somehow – kiss her cheek, hug her, give her a damn pat on the shoulder – but I just don't know how to go about it. Pam shakes her head slightly, and whatever moment was there is lost for now. "I'm going to put these in some water. You can have a seat, if you want."

As she heads for the kitchen, I sit on the sofa and look around. Her apartment is small, but very cozy and very…_Pam_. I can just feel the love she's put into it. The whole place – or what I can see, at least – is painted a light blueish-green; it reminds me of the teapot I bought her for Christmas. Off to my right a giant window is letting in what's left of the setting sun's light. The sofa I'm on is tan (and may I add, really comfy), as is her armchair, and both have a fair share of throw pillows, all of them covered either in stripes or a flowery pattern of blues, greens and browns. In front of me is a worn coffee table with a few sketchbooks, some watercolor pencils and a giant Yankee candle on it. She has a huge bookshelf in the corner next to her little entertainment center, literally stuffed full of books, DVDs and a few knick-knacks. Framed on the walls are some prints – I recognize one as Monet – and pictures of her family. She's got quite a few plants, too, but I can tell at least one is fake. It makes me smile, and somehow makes her more adorable. I don't know, knowing she doesn't have a green thumb? It's cute. The kitchen's only separated by a breakfast bar so I can see Pam carefully arranging her flowers in a vase. She's wearing a soft smile while she does it, which only makes me grin more. I feel so cheesy, but I can't help it – that's what she's always done to me. A minute later she brings the vase back out, setting it on the coffee table. I stand up.

"Are you ready to go?" I ask. She nods.

"Absolutely I am," she replies, cocking an eyebrow mischievously and grabbing her purse. I just laugh as I follow her out.

--

"Oh! I've always wanted to go here," Pam says as we pull into the parking lot.

"You've never been to The Banshee?" I'm kinda surprised – it's a pretty popular place. For Scranton, anyway.

"No. Roy always thought it seemed too 'trendy'-" She stops for just a split second- "-and I haven't gotten out much lately," she finishes quickly, picking at the hem of her skirt.

Well, there it is. I know she feels bad – I'm not sure if it's just because she mentioned Roy or because she talked about one of "them" first. I'm really not upset (selfishly I'm a little relieved, because I know we'll be talking about my ex much more at some point). She was with the guy for years; it'd be impossible for her to never mention him. Besides, it's not two years ago. It's not last spring. It's right now, and right now she's here with me. "Well, then, I'm glad I get to be here when you finally get a chance to check it out," I tell her, smiling once I catch her eye. She returns the gesture, and I can tell she's relieved.

I jog around to the passenger side and open her door. "Thanks," she says, and we start around the side of the pub. Suddenly she spins and heads back toward my car. "Forgot my purse," she calls over her shoulder. I slowly follow her. She opens the door again and bends over to grab her purse from under the seat, but as she's standing back up she stops suddenly.

"You okay?" I ask as I approach. She slowly emerges from the car, a smile creeping across her face. When I see what's in her hand I know why.

"Really?" she asks, holding up a Deadpool comic book. Oh my _God_. How, _how_ could I have missed that when I cleaned out my car this afternoon? I rub the back of my neck.

"Huh…tell me: what are the odds of you putting that back and pretending you never saw it?"

"Um…staggeringly high." My eyes widen hopefully. "_Against_ it happening."

"I thought as much." But she does put it back under the seat and shuts the door, so that's something. My face feels like it's on fire.

"Deadpool…I've never heard of him," she says as we walk toward the entrance. I sigh.

"Yeah, well, he's a lesser known character." I shove my hands deep in my pockets and keep my eyes on the sidewalk. I'm just gonna ride this out. Hopefully it ends quicker that way.

"Is he some sort of ninja?"

"Uh, no, he's a mercenary killer."

"Does he have powers?"

"Kind of."

"What are they?" she asks as I open the door for her, still refusing to look her way. I gotta say, though, this isn't as bad as I thought it would be.

"Well, he's like an unbeatable Green Beret that has the ability to regenerate really quickly."

"That sounds cool."

"He _is _actually really cool," I reply cautiously. She can't possibly be interested…can she?

"Is he friends with Superman?"

"Not Superman, no," I answer with a little more enthusiasm as we wait in the lobby to be seated. "Superman's actually a DC character and Deadpool's part of the Marvel uni-" But I stop short when I finally look down at Pam and realize she's trying so hard not laugh that her hand is clamped over her mouth and tears are sparkling in her eyes. I shake my head and sigh. "Oh man. You are _so_ proud of yourself, aren't you?"

"I can't believe…I had…you going!" she splutters, wiping away tears. I run a hand through my hair.

"I honestly can't either."

"It was so _easy_!" She takes a few deep breaths, still giggling.

"You almost finished?"

"Almost. Wait." She holds up a hand and takes an exaggerated deep breath. "Okay. I'm done."

I laugh in spite of myself. "Good. Thank you, really." We share another look and, despite having been mercilessly teased the last two minutes, there's nothing I want to do right now more than kiss her. I know, it's more or less a recurrent theme in my life over the past four years. Before I can get up the nerve – also a recurrent theme – a hostess approaches and takes us to a booth in a quiet corner. Once we're tucked in, I smile at Pam. "What do you think?"

She grins. "I love it," she says as she takes a good look around. I'm glad, but honestly, The Banshee's hard _not _to like. It's an Irish pub, complete with an amazing bar, lots of dark wood, low lighting from cool brass fixtures and a huge fireplace, and exposed brickwork. There are homey touches too, like old ads and family photos and shelves full of books. It's certainly not the fanciest place I could have brought Pam, but fancy wasn't really what I was looking for. I've really given it a lot of thought – okay, I should say I've thought about it a lot since deciding to do this a few hours ago. Believe it or not Scranton does have a few high-end restaurants, and I guess they'd be great choices when you're on one of those first dates where you're shooting to impress a girl. Tonight's not really about that, though. More than anything I just want us both to feel really comfortable being together again. I've been here quite a few times and I've always thought it has an ambiance that puts you at ease right away.

Our waitress steps up and smiles. "Hey, I'm Susan. I'll be your server tonight. Can I get you two a drink first?" she asks. Pam and I exchange hesitant looks.

"Is it okay with you if I-"

"I wouldn't mind a beer-" she starts at the same time. We laugh, I'm pretty sure with relief. I don't _have _to have a drink, but I definitely wouldn't mind one. I nod at Pam.

"You first."

"Um, what beers do you serve?" she asks, glancing at the menu. Susan smiles kindly.

"First time at The Banshee?" Pam nods. "We've got over 20 beers on tap and 150 different bottled beers. Just ask, sweetie, we've probably got it."

Pam's eyes widen. "Wow…um, just a draft Killian's?"

"Excellent. And you?"

"I'll take a black and tan," I tell her. With another smile she leaves. Pam gives me a questioning look.

"Black and tan?"

"It's half Guinness, half Harp."

She raises her eyebrows. "My my."

I chuckle. "Hey, this is one of the only places around here you can get one."

"Good to know…Beer Snob."

"Guilty," I admit, holding my hands up. "I earned it – I drank more than my fair share of crappy beer in college."

"Like PBR?" she guesses knowingly.

"Of course."

"Milwaukee's Best?"

"Oh God, the Beast…"

"Schlitz?"

I shake my head firmly. "Nope. I drew the line there. Seriously, good beer is one of my few indulgences." Pam's eyes twinkle and she bites her lip. "If you mention the book again, Beesly, I will go sit at the bar and watch the Sixers or something."

"I didn't say anything!" she protests, laughing. "Besides, that's an empty threat. The Sixers are done."

Whoa, hold on. 'The Sixers are done'…? They actually are; it's the playoffs and they didn't make it. Since when does Pam know _anything_ about sports? I study her. "What'd you say?" I ask, leaning in a little. Her eyes widen just a little, then dart back down to her menu.

"I said the Sixers aren't on," she says airily, refusing to look up. I grin.

"No, I think you said the Sixers are _done_."

"What? No I didn't. What does that even mean?"

But before I can press this further Susan returns. Pam looks relieved. Susan puts down coasters, then sets down our glasses. "I'll be back to take your order in just a minute," she tells us. I pick up my drink and read my coaster. It makes me chuckle.

"What?" Pam asks.

"The coasters here all have Irish sayings on them." I hold it up to show her, sure I'm starting to blush. Again.

**An áit a bhuil do chroí is ann a thabharfas do chosa thú.**  
_Your feet will bring you to where your heart is._

She laughs softly, then picks up her glass and glances at her coaster. "What does yours say?" I ask. Her grin widens some and she shrugs.

"It's a toast - the one that starts with 'May the road always rise to meet you.'"

I'm not sure I believe her but I just raise my glass. "Ah. Well, I propose a toast of my own."

She raises her glass. "Okay."

"To…" I can't bring myself to say anything I'm thinking. It still feels too early. "To good beer." She clinks her glass against mine.

"To good beer," she repeats with a nod. We each take a sip.

"Speaking of good beer, did you know Dwight and Angela were together?"

Pam nods excitedly, waving her hands. "Oh my God, _yes_! Wait," she says, her brow furrowing, "what does that have to do with good beer?"

"Absolutely nothing, but I've wanted to talk to you about it for _weeks_."

"Weeks? I've been holding that in for _months._"

"You're kidding."

"Um, no. I'm completely serious. I was suspicious for a long time – you knew that – but I've known for sure since the day Dwight quit. Angela told me. In a round about way, at least."

"Wow. Your self-control is remarkable, Beesly."

"Thank you. How did you find out?" she asks. I tell her the story, pausing only to order some Irish cheddar fondue when Susan comes back. I try to skate around the fact that I had learned this little tidbit not long after the whole Roy encounter. Pam shakes her head when I finish.

"And you never told anyone until now?" she asks, reaching up to play with her necklace. With the nervous gesture I know what she's really asking.

"Not a single person. I figure I owed it to Dwight and besides, I only knew one person who would really appreciate it." I smile at her. She cocks her head a little, still fiddling with her necklace.

"Yeah." It's quiet a minute. "You would've loved it today – they were like the Juan and Eva Peron of the office. Maybe more like Juan, Eva and Eva Peron. Andy was the other Eva."

I start laughing. "That's right! How was Dwight's one day in the sun?"

She laughs too. "It was more like his four hours, but it was…" She shakes her head solemnly, folding her hands in front of her. "It was truly magical, Jim."

The prospect of what I know is going to be an awesome story, paired with seeing her at ease again, makes me happy. "I would love nothing more than a detailed play-by-play. Leave _nothing_ out."

So for the next half hour, over apples, pretzel nuggets and a bread bowl full of hot cheese, Pam regales me with the story of Dwight's reign. I lose food more than once off my dipping fork from laughing so hard, especially at the way her voice rises as she says 'Schrute Buck,' and I almost perform a spit-take when she recaps Dwight's seminar. We both crack up while she explains her role as secret assistant to the regional manager, but for some reason hearing about it also makes me feel a little…sad, I guess. We were such a team, for so long. I mean, I don't have any delusions that she can't have fun without me, nor do I want that to be the case. Since I've known her, though, I can't make myself enjoy life as much when she's not around. Does that sound pathetic?

Almost as if she's reading my mind, she smiles up at me. "It was a hilarious day. The only thing that would have made it better is having you there to laugh about it with." She looks surprised by her own honesty – I know I am – and she reaches for the necklace again. I know how she feels. As close as we were, there was always so much we couldn't say. When our talks got too close to dangerous territory we made a joke, or found something that suddenly had to get done. I want to reach across the table and take her hand, hold it in mine.

But because I'm not as brave as her, I resort to our old M.O. "Oh come on, Pam, had I been there you know there's no way Dwight would have trusted you with such a high-ranking post."

She heaves a dramatic sigh. "You're right. Never mind. Thank goodness you weren't there." She seems more comfortable again.

"Right, because if I had been in the office, how would I be able to dazzle _you_ with the story of the madness that went on at corporate today?"

"I've been meaning to ask you about that. Michael has been in a weird mood since he got back. What exactly happened?"

Before I can start Susan arrives with our dinner order (a corned beef sandwich for me, a bowl of potato soup for Pam and another drink each for both of us). With a warning that it won't be as great of a story as hers, I return the favor and tell her all about Jan's total meltdown this morning. I try to make it funny, because parts of it are, but I can see in Pam's eyes that she feels the same way I did: it really was kind of sad, too. It makes me think of Karen's reaction; that Jan deserved what she got and the whole thing was laughable. It could just be that Pam and I are too immersed in the wackiness of Scranton, but I doubt it. After I've finished Pam suddenly shakes her head.

"Oh my gosh, Jim. I'm sorry; I'm such a jerk."

My brows furrow. "Why do you say that?"

"We've been talking for so long and I haven't even asked you how your interview went yet!"

"Oh…don't worry about it." I'd actually forgotten I'd _had _an interview today.

"So…? How'd it go?" I search her eyes. She's completely genuine, but I know she's worried about the answer – her soup spoon is circling the bowl at a rapid clip.

"Uh, it went okay. It went really well, actually."

"Oh!" She looks down, but so quickly if I hadn't been watching her I would have missed it. "That's great. Do you think you got the job?"

"No."

Pam looks confused. "Why?"

"Because…" Now it's my turn to look down, poking at a few leftover French fries. For some reason I can't meet her eyes. "Because I asked David Wallace to withdraw my name from consideration."

It's quiet. I manage to glance at her. Her lips are pursed, but her eyes are shining. "Are you sure that was a good idea? I mean, if your interview went that well – and I'm sure it did – it seems like that was a really great opportunity to move up…and getting to move to the city…?" she finally says.

"Pam." It's almost a whisper. I make myself meet her eyes. Neither one of us says another word. I don't think we have to. Slowly a brilliant smile lights up Pam's face; I can't help but mirror her reaction. For the first time in a year I get a taste of that complete joy again, that feeling I've wanted to experience again for so long, and it's so overwhelming I literally can't do anything but sit here and smile at her. Pam's the first to break the gaze, looking down and tucking her hair behind her ear. I glance at my watch, my heart racing.

"Well, it's only nine. I was thinking since it's only a mile or two from here we could head to the park, maybe go for a walk?"

"That sounds good," she says, and I can't help but notice she sounds a little breathless. She puts her purse on the table, then picks it up as she stands. "I'm just going to visit the bathroom before we go."

"Okay. I'll get the check." She nods and hurries off towards the restroom. I pull my wallet from my pocket and fish out some cash. Before I put it back I tuck my coaster inside. Hey, I've saved a lot lamer Pam-related souvenirs, and you've got to admit it's fitting. I look for hers, too, but Susan must have cleared it at some point. Oh well. Susan stops by and I hand her the billfold, assuring her we're all set. With a grin she wishes me a good night. Just as I'm standing I see Pam leaving the ladies' room. My heart thumps a little harder. "All set?"

She nods. "Thank you for dinner - it was excellent," she says as we head for the door.

"Thank you for the company - it was excellent too." She graces me with another smile. Okay, I can do this. I take a deep breath and reach out to put my hand on the small of her back…and completely panic _just_ before I touch her, balling my hand into a fist and shoving it in my pocket instead. I've got to get a grip; what the hell is wrong with me? I'm so frustrated I inadvertently shake my head. Pam catches it.

"You okay?"

"Yep," I reply, having to force a smile for the first time all night.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Despite the fact that he'll never actually see this, thanks to my husband for all crucial Deadpool information, and the Superman line. He was also the one who knew where Utley and Howard bat in the Phillies' lineup, which I referenced in Chapter 1 (although for the record, I did know they played for the Phillies). Thank you, honey! Oh yeah, I guess I should thank Google too, for all the other hoopla I referenced. Your thanks is less enthusiastic, though, as that's your job. And you're not _nearly_ as cute.


	4. Chapter 4

**PAM**

Jim parks near the playground at Nay Aug Park. I'm trying to rub my arms in a not-too-obvious way – after two pints of beer (and way too much blushing), I'd gotten overly warm at the restaurant, but once I'd stepped into the night air I got goosebumps. Jim gives me a smile as he turns off the ignition. It quickly turns to a frown as he notices what I'm doing.

"Are you cold? We can scrap the walk."

"No, no, I'm not cold." I try to smile reassuringly. He shakes his head, grinning, and reaches past me into the backseat. A moment later he sits back up and hands me a black hoodie.

"Just in case you _do _get cold," he teases as gets out to open my door. Once I'm outside I slip the sweatshirt on. It comes down to the middle of my thighs and the sleeves completely cover my hands. I'm surrounded by his scent – a mix of his soap, cologne and other things I can't be sure of that always smell so good combined on him. I know it sounds strange, but it's so…intimate. "Perfect fit," he jokes as I zip it up. I strike a pose.

"What can I say? I'm a fashion plate." We set off along the sidewalk silently, but as we near a wooden walkway I point toward it. "Do you want to take the trail to the treehouse?"

"Sure. I haven't actually seen it yet."

"It's beautiful. We had our last watercolor class out there last week."

"Oh really?"

I nod. "We were doing paintings of the gorge."

"That's cool." There's a pause. "How are your art classes going, by the way?"

"Well, this semester is finished, but I'm taking two more classes starting in a couple weeks."

"Anything interesting?"

"Um, yeah actually. I have Two-Dimensional Design and Introduction to Commercial Design."

Jim smiles over at me. "You're really branching out. That's awesome."

I shrug self-consciously as I smile back. It's quiet again.

"You warm enough?" he asks after a minute. I nod.

"Much better now, thanks."

"Good." And that's it. Again. I sneak a peek Jim's way and see he's lost in his own thoughts. I know this silence isn't because we've run out of things to say. It's more that we've covered all of the easy topics. I'm pretty sure we both know that eventually we're going to have to start talking about at least some of what we've avoided all night. Although I know I – _we_ – can handle it, I'm still kind of scared to actually start down that road.

I also wonder which of us is going to make the first move – any move - physically. Well, let's be honest – no matter how Fancy or New this Beesly is (or how many beers I have), it probably won't be me. I'm, like, _hyper_-aware of the fact that we haven't touched all night, not even accidentally. We're walking side by side but our arms haven't even brushed against each other. I hope I'm not giving off a vibe that I don't want to Jim to touch me, but this is one area I can't read him on. If talking about anything serious was something we avoided, physical contact between us was almost forbidden. If I'm going to be totally honest, I think a little part of me still feels like it's off-limits. Old habits die hard, I guess.

Ten quiet minutes later we reach the walkway to the treehouse. "Here it is," I say unnecessarily. Jim looks surprised.

"Wow." I felt the same way when I first saw it. There are a few hundred feet of what's almost like a narrow boardwalk stretching ahead of us, leading to a beautiful gazebo-like structure 150 feet above Nay Aug Gorge that's actually built _around_ a tree. Jim gives me a smile and holds his arm out. "After you."

I walk the path into the tree house and stand against the far railing. Jim slowly walks around, his hands in his pockets. "I can totally see why you guys would come here to paint. The view is…"

"Incredible," I finish for him. Tonight it's even more breathtaking. The sky is a pinky purple, a few stars already twinkling, and the waterfall below is silver. Despite the beauty, or maybe because of it (and probably the alcohol too, although I'm by no means drunk), I can feel a wave of emotion coming over me.

The thing is, it isn't just happiness. It's confusion, and guilt, and maybe frustration. I don't know. I can't describe it. I think the silence we've been in since we got here has let all the craziness of today catch up to me, and my chest tightens as I try to keep everything in. I'm out on a date with someone I've thought about almost nonstop since he kissed me last year, and yet now I can't stop thinking about what he said at the restaurant. Because of me, Jim has thrown his entire life into a tailspin. He's back at a job he can't stand, and I'm assuming broken up from a girlfriend that he'd been happy with. I can't feel good about that, no matter how much I want to be with him. I take a few slow breaths, hoping the cool, clean air calms me down. It doesn't, really.

After Jim's done a full lap around the treehouse he doesn't join me at the railing. Instead he stands against the tree behind me, leaning on the trunk and crossing his long legs in front of him. Him keeping his distance doesn't make me feel any better, so rather than face him I turn and look out at the gorge. The endless silence stretches on.

And _on_.

Jim clears his throat. It startles me, but I still don't turn around. "I want you to know I ended things with Karen today. Before I left New York," he says, his voice low. My eyes fill with tears.

"Okay," I struggle to say, angry at myself for the tremble in my voice. I know in my heart that soon he's going to say something that's going to set this emotional rollercoaster off.

"I thought you should know that. I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier. I meant to, but…" His voice trails off into the darkness. I press the cuffs of his sweatshirt to my eyes, desperately trying to keep any tears from falling. "Once I saw your note, I had to." That does me in. A tiny sob escapes before I can stop it. I bow my head and clasp the railing. I feel so stupid. Jim is immediately at my side. "Oh, Pam…" I look at him. "God, I'm sorry. I really should have told you earlier." He starts drumming his fingers against the railing, something I've seen him do a million times on my counter at work. I know it's his nervous tic.

I shake my head. "No, it's not that. Well, I mean, it _is, _in a way…but _you _shouldn't be apologizing. I should."

The drumming stops. His eyes narrow. "What do you have to apologize for?"

"I feel like…I feel like this past week all I've done is screw things up for you."

"What the hell are you talking about?" The look of confusion on his face only makes it worse.

"Last week, at the beach, I say all this stuff to you…and I mean, yeah, maybe it was good that I got it out, but why not months ago, right after Roy and I broke up? That's when I _should_ have done it!" I look his way and see nothing but shock. I think even if he wants to agree – and he probably does – he can't say anything. "And aside from one lousy text message, I never even called you _once _in Connecticut_,_ Jim!"

He shakes his head slowly. "Um…no, you didn't. But I didn't return your message, and I didn't call you either."

I wave away his attempt to even the playing field. "It wasn't…it wasn't your place to call me. I mean, you put yourself out there, you'd already…" I can't rehash the way he'd opened his heart, and he knows what I mean anyway, "and then you were gone, and I realized how I …and you came back and I…I chickened out…over and over…and then got back together with--...and I didn't say anything until I walked on some _coals_ at an office retreat? What _is _that?" I'm so worked up that my rambling is hardly making sense to _me_. I can't help it - _everything_ I've had to hold back so a camera won't see, or a co-worker won't overhear, is trying to pour out at once. I take a deep breath and try to collect myself. "Did I have to have my moment, or whatever, in front of everyone – including your _girlfriend_?"

"Ex-girlfriend," he corrects quietly, probably unsure of what else to say.

"But not then – she wasn't your ex then! And then all I could do was be so proud of myself that 'Fancy New Beesly'"- I use sarcastic air quotes – "had finally been honest with you. I didn't even stop to think how it would affect you, or her…and she's a _great _girl, Jim! Karen is a really nice person that even after she found out about…whatever, was still willing to be nice to me!"

"Yeah, Karen _is _a good person. But, Pam-"

"And as if all_ that _wasn't enough," I continue, cutting him off, "I stick some stupid little note in that file, and you could have completely missed it and just handed the folder to the _CFO of the company_, during the _biggest_ interview of your life for this _amazing_ opportunity!"

"Wallace never even saw it, Pam. I'm serious – _I _decided to take my name out of the running," he says, trying to reassure me. I cover my face.

"That's the point!" I cry, then fold my arms across my chest as the truth hits me. "Up until I was so _stupid_…up until I decided I just _had _to speak my mind, everything was going so well for you. I couldn't have picked a worse time. You had a great girlfriend, you were about to get a great job in a great city." I sigh around another sob. "You had the chance to be really happy."

There's another long stretch of silence.

"Are you _serious_?" Jim finally asks. I nod, wiping my eyes. "Oh my God," he breathes, and from the corner of my eye I see him shake his head. He takes my shoulders gently and turns me towards him. That simple touch sends heat waves radiating through me, which only intensify as his hands travel down my arms slowly. I uncross them and he takes my hands, then stares into my eyes. For a minute I feel like we've been transported back to a year ago. He looks just as open and vulnerable as he had then. "Don't you get it?" he asks softly. I'm not completely sure what he's asking so I just shake my head again. He smiles softly. "Pam…_you're _my chance to be really happy. Just you." He looks down for a second, then raises his eyes again. They're bright with tears but he still has that smile. "It's _always_ been just you," he says, his voice hoarse as his thumb strokes my knuckles.

There will be more to say later, I know. But with that one phrase, I feel all of my confusion, all of my guilt – everything that's been building up for the last year – melt away. It's not like some movie moment; it's more that, for the first time in a long time…God, maybe _ever_, that a moment feels absolutely _right_. It's that feeling that gives me the courage to wrap my arms around Jim's neck and rest my head on his chest. I think the fact that barrier is completely knocked down – and that _I _was the one to do it – surprises him, because I can feel his breath catch in his throat. But only a second or two later his arms are around me tightly and his chin is resting on the top of my head.

We stand like that in silence – a comfortable silence now – for a long time. I'm still a little weepy, but I calm myself down by focusing on the little details. Jim's heartbeat against my cheek. His even breathing. How soft his button-up shirt is. How he's stroking my back so slowly I don't think he even knows he's doing it. How dark the night's gotten since we got here. My list is interrupted when he clears his throat.

"Still warm enough?"

"Totally."

"What would you like to do after this? I mean, if you're not too tired."

"It's like ten o'clock. How lame do you think I am?"

"You really want to know?" I reach up and pull his hair.

"Well, I was waiting to surprise you, but I _do _have good beer at my apartment."

"Intriguing. How good we talkin'?"

"Blue Moon." I know he loves it; he had a case of it at his party last winter. It's delicious; I've been buying it for myself ever since.

"Really?"

"Yup."

"I get to hang out with you _and _drink good beer, twice in one night?"

"Uh huh."

"Not a bad night," he rules. We let a minute or two pass.

"Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"I have something else to tell you," I say, trying to sound serious.

"What's that?" He sounds a little worried – after everything I've blurted out tonight, I can't blame him.

I smile against his shirt. "I _did _say 'the Sixers are done.'"

I feel his laughter before I hear it. "I _knew_ it! When did you start watching basketball?"

"Well, I tried baseball first, but it seemed like there was too much to learn. Plus it's _so slow_."

"Now _that _is a misconception I'm going to have to clear up for you this summer."

"Anyway, I already knew I didn't really like football, or hockey, because I'd seen a lot of both…before."

"Right. What I'm not sure of is why someone who was never interested in sports was trying so hard to find one to watch."

I don't even hesitate with my answer. At least for tonight, we're past that. "It made me feel close to you, I guess. I knew you were watching somewhere too." His embrace tightens just a little.

"I just wish you could have seen a better season," he sighs.

"Me too. But at least you're not a Knicks fan. _That_ would have been torture."

He laughs again. "Very true."

"I mean, they make Philly look like the Mavs."

"Wow." Jim pulls away to look at me, still chuckling. "Listen to you, Sportscenter!"

I raise an eyebrow at him. "I know my stuff."

"I see that." Jim takes my hand. "I promise you'll never have to worry about me being a Knicks fan."

"How can you be so sure?"

Even in the dark I can tell he's giving me a sly grin. "Oh c'mon, Beesly, haven't you learned by now?" he asks as he starts leading us out of the treehouse.

"Learned what?"

He squeezes my hand. "New York's not my thing."


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **Well, I was trying to wait until tomorrow, but I have little to no self control so here we go - the last chapter, plus a bonus epilogue. Thank you to all of you for every nice thing you've said; I totally nerded out and packed a lot of detail into this story. So many of you noticed and complimented it, and I'm so glad. I hope this last bit doesn't disappoint. Take care and enjoy the season finale!

--BEBee. :)

* * *

**JIM**

"Can you take a _little_ longer?" I tease Pam as she fumbles through her purse. She's been looking for her keys for a solid two minutes.

"Shut up."

"Seriously, I'm really curious."

"I hate you."

I say nothing for a minute. "That purse can only be, what? Six inches by ten, twelve maybe?"

"I _will_ smack you, Jim."

"Two or three inches wide?" She says nothing. Her digging is getting more animated. "So we're talking an absolute _maximum _of 216 cubic inches of space that you have taken," I make a big show of checking my watch, "four minutes to look through. Do you think that's some kind of record?" Just then I hear a jingle and Pam triumphantly holds up her keys, then gives me the finger. I laugh as she unlocks and opens her door.

"I'm glad you found that so funny," she says, setting her purse and her keys on the coffee table after turning on the light.

"I did. I really did."

She turns to me and shrugs. "As long as I'm amusing."

I give her a grin. "Always."

She bows. "I'm going to grab one of those _fahn-cy_ beers. Would you like one too?"

"Of course." She skips – yes, literally skips – off to the kitchen. I smile as I watch her, knowing just how she feels. Hell, if I wasn't some 6'3" lanky dork I'd be skipping too. Instead of attempting it I wander over to her bookshelf. My eyes scan over everything: a chunk of art books, a Precious Moments figurine holding a palette and standing at an easel (I would bet anything that's from her dad), two or three paperbacks with the with the word "shopaholic" in the title, seasons one and two of _The Muppet Show _on DVD. I make a mental note of that. Off to the right hand side of the top shelf my eyes stop, because nestled between a book on Picasso and a copy of Waiting for Godot is my Christmas gift from a year and a half ago. It makes me smile, and as arrogant as this sounds I know my observation of this paint color earlier wasn't chance.

Pam returns a moment later and I nod toward the shelf. "I thought you wanted that teapot so you could make tea at the office."

She shrugs and takes a seat on the sofa, setting the two Blue Moons on the coffee table. I join her. "I brought it home when I realized how nicely it matched the room," she says lightly, looking at me with a half-smile. I give her a deadpan stare; she gives me an innocent blink or two. I crack first.

"Okay," I say, laughing, "I'll leave it alone. It's probably for the best you don't use it, anyway."

"Why's that?"

"Dwight stuck it up his nose."

"_What?_" I just nod. "He stuck it in his _nose_?"

"Well not the whole teapot, just the spout," I say breezily. Pam socks me in the arm.

"_How_ could you not tell me that?"

"That day was traumatizing enough for me."

She just shakes her head. "Thank God I run everything new through the dishwasher twice before I use it," she sighs. I pick up my beer to take a sip, but her warm hand on my knee stops me.

"Wait. We need a toast."

"Really? One toast isn't enough for one night? It was so eloquent."

Pam nods solemnly. "Yes, it was, but now we need an apartment toast."

"Oh right. Sorry. Okay. Apartment toast." I raise my beer. "To-"

Her hand, which hadn't moved, now squeezes my knee gently. Even after holding her for almost a half hour tonight, this still sends a jolt through me. "It's my turn," she says simply.

"Oh. Sorry." I'm a little surprised, but can't help laughing as she sets down her beer and grabs her purse. "Jesus, Beesly, _again _with the purse? We'll be here until tomorrow." She raises her eyebrow and pulls her hand from her purse. I put a hand to my heart. "Oh thank God. I was afraid we'd have to toast with warm beer." Then I stop and notice what she's holding: her coaster from The Banshee. "How did you get that? I thought the waitress…"

"When I went to the bathroom I set my purse on top of it so I could slide it off the table without you noticing," she explains with a tiny smile. I chuckle. She glances at me.

"I took mine too," I admit.

Her smile widens and she starts to hand me her coaster. "Here."

"I already know it – may the road rise to meet you, may the wind-"

"Jim," she interrupts quietly, her eyes sparkling, "take it."

I slowly take it from her hand and she picks up her beer again. I do the same, glancing down at the coaster.

**I have known many,  
and liked not a few,  
but loved only one  
and this toast is to you.**

I look up at her again, amazed. When I think about our history together, I've kind of always given myself credit for making the "big" moves, even if those moves hadn't resulted in anything good. _I _told her how I felt. _I _kissed her. _I _left for a fresh start. _I _found a new girlfriend and tried to move on. It doesn't make me feel good admitting this, but I'd never assumed Pam was strong or daring enough to do any of it. And maybe back when I was making all those "big" moves, she wasn't. What I'd missed over the past year we'd been distant – both physically and emotionally – was that she'd become someone who, in her own way, could do those things too. Maybe they weren't as grand of gestures, but in their simplicity they almost had a much bigger impact. If she had left Roy a year ago for me I know we would have been happy. But with a year to change and grow, then come back together and be able to appreciate all the old and new about each other...I don't know. It's strange to say it, but maybe we'll be even better having had to wait until now.

She's holding her beer bottle out, but it's kind of tentative, like maybe she's gone a little too far. I quickly clink the neck of her bottle against mine to reassure her. "Cheers," I say softly. I take a long pull off the bottle, then sit back. "I gotta tell you, this may be _the _most comfortable sofa ever."

"Thanks. It was a clearance model."

"Way to go, bargain shopper."

"On my salary, I don't have much of a choice." She runs her hand over the cushion proudly, though. "Would you like a snack or something?"

"Sure, that sounds good. What do you have?"

"Um…I don't know. Come with me in the kitchen." I gladly comply, especially because she's holding my hand for the short trip. Pam opens the pantry and I move behind her, resting my hands on her shoulders. I find that since we've started touching, I don't want to stop. I know that sounds a little perverted; what I mean is I feel like the guy who finally found an oasis after years in the desert. "Let's see…I have chips." She holds up a bag of Utz chips and shakes it; the noise betrays the fact that it's mostly crumbs. "Then again, maybe not. Okay…um, how about cheese and crackers?"

"Sounds fantastic."

But now she's holding an empty Ritz box upside down. "Sorry." She ducks her head a little. "Today's usually my grocery shopping day."

I lean into her and reach up to the top shelf, grabbing a box. "Let's look up here and-" I can already feel by its weight that it's a success- "voila! Miracle popcorn." I reach my other arm around to open the box in front of her and pull out one last package. Pam turns around to flash me a bright smile, then ducks under my arm and pops the package in the microwave. After setting the timer to 2:43, she leans back against the counter. I mirror her pose against the breakfast bar. She's smiling softly; I can't help but copy that, too.

"Hi."

She laughs. "Hey." It's amazing how even those two words, said in that order, mean something to us. "Do you want me to go grab your beer for you?"

"Nope."

"You sure?"

"Yup."

"Have anything else to say?"

I take one step closer, which basically brings me halfway across the kitchen. "I just want to stand here, with you." Before she can respond the microwave dings. Pam casts one more long look my way, then pulls the steaming bag out. She nods to her upper right, so I open a cabinet and find a bowl. Just a few seconds later we're back on the sofa, a bowl of hot popcorn between us.

I point towards the bookshelf with my bottle. "I was checking out your DVDs a few minutes ago."

"And…?"

"I gotta say, I don't think anything will go with this _fahn-cy_ beer and miracle popcorn quite as well as _The Muppet Show_," I tell her. She grins.

"You like the Muppets?"

"Um, let me think…_yes. Love _them. I haven't seen the show in years."

Pam claps excitedly and hops up to get the DVDs. After she's loaded a disc in the player she returns to the sofa, sitting right next to me with her legs curled under her. I grin at her.

"Oh gosh," I yawn, doing the classic exaggerated stretch to put my arm around her. "Boy oh boy."

"What are you, sixteen?" she giggles, leaning into me.

"Somewhere around there." It's not a stretch; most of the night that's how I've felt. We settle in to watch two great episodes (one hosted by Steve Martin, one by Madeline Kahn), singing along with the theme song and laughing at the goofy skits. I really do love this show, and I love that _she _loves it. What I love more is having her cuddled up to me on her clearance model sofa, my hand resting on her bare knee like it's the most normal thing that could be happening right now. As I glance over to see another laugh light up her face, I'm reminded yet again what I love the_ most_.

When the credits have rolled Pam looks to me. "Still love the Muppets?"

I nod. "It's amazing how some things hold up over time. It's just as good I remember, if not better." I think about what I've said and everything it applies to. Pam smiles, no doubt thinking the same thing.

"So, she says, tracing a circle on my wrist. It's a little distracting, in a good way.

"So."

"I have one more surprise, if you think you're up for it."

I scrunch up my face in thought. "I think I'll be okay."

"Good!" With that she's off the couch and heading off down her hallway.

"Wait…where is it?"

"My bedroom!" she calls. Okay. I'm slightly more than intrigued.

"Can I have a hint?"

Her head pokes around the doorframe. "Well, it's small and it's pink and it's…fun," she replies, biting her lip and ducking back into her room. Look, I think I'm a pretty sensitive, reasonable guy, but I'm still a guy. I've seen a few...adult films, and I think I'm pre-wired to have my mind start hanging out in the general vicinity of the gutter after a clue like that, especially when it's something in her bedroom. The look on her face didn't help. My heart starts pounding.

"Oh really?" I manage, somewhat casually.

"Yup! I found it when I was cleaning today."

All right, well, that changes things. Not that I don't want to see Pam in anything small, pink and "fun" – believe me, I wouldn't be upset - but if she's putting on some piece of lingerie she had from back when she was with Roy… I shake my head, too creeped out to even entertain the idea.

"No what?" she asks, catching me as she reemerges. Thankfully I don't have to worry about that scenario because she's still in her same top and skirt from before. She is, however, hiding something behind her back.

"Nothing. Whatcha got?"

"You sure you're ready?" she questions, bouncing a little.

"I'm sure."

Pam pulls her hands from behind her back. "Ta da!"

"Oh my God!" I cry, laughing. She's holding a small black case that I haven't seen since before I left for Connecticut. "Pass the Pigs!"

It's quite possibly the goofiest game ever, but Pam and I are nothing if not big supporters of the goofy. All it consists of is two tiny rubber pigs that you toss like a pair of dice, earning points based on the positions the pigs land in – positions with ridiculous names like the Oinker, Makin' Bacon, and the rarest of all, the Double Leaning Jowler. The number of hours we've logged playing this is incalculable. We played at lunch. We played on break. When really bored, we'd IM the other, saying only "pigs?" and knew to grab a random stack of paperwork and head for the conference room. If someone came in we'd just grab the pigs, hold them under the table and pretend to be hard at work. We were so obsessed that we not only named the pigs (Sir Porkington and Li'l Squealer), but started developing strategies to get the best scores – none of which were feasible, by the way, because the game is about as random as you can get.

Pam takes a seat on the sofa again, taking our pink friends from their case. "I thought I'd lost this at work," she explains, "but I guess I must've brought it home at some point." She doesn't need to say anything else.

"I completely forgot about it!"

"Remember when Dwight went on and on about how it was just a stupid version of some dice game?"

"How could I not? It prompted the great Bacon Week Prank of '05." (Not that involved, really – Dwight just got bacon mixed in anything he ate for a week. On a sandwich? Okay, but in the cake at his birthday party? Classic.) She holds the pigs out to me. I shake my head. "You first."

The game starts, but with each roll I find I can focus less and less. We're sitting so close that our legs are pressed together from hip to knee. Every time Pam gets excited, be it because of a good roll by her or a bad one by me, she lightly slaps my knee. When she's disappointed her head falls against my shoulder for a moment. I lick my lips and attempt to concentrate, but her warmth and closeness are taking over my senses. I take my turn distractedly and pass the pigs back to her. As I watch her shake them in her palm I study her. Her green eyes are glowing in the lamplight, she's pursing her lips and her hair is swinging around her shoulders. Her scent – clean with some sort of flowery note – is everywhere. My heart is thudding against my ribs.

"Come on, come on—"

But I stop her by pressing my lips firmly against hers. Pam inhales sharply but doesn't move. As I bring my hands to her face I hear the two soft thuds of the game pieces falling out of her hand. In the next few seconds it's all a frantic jumble of arms reaching around each other and hands tangling in hair, open mouths and bumped knees, both of us trying desperately to be everywhere at once. She laughs nervously while her mouth is on mine, which only sends my pulse racing and makes me pull her closer. Finally we fall into place, two puzzle pieces fit together again, and kiss like we have to make up for all the time we've lost right now. I have no idea how long it lasts; all I know is that no matter how awkward it is, I already know it'll stand forever as the greatest kiss I'll ever experience. I thought once that that place might forever be held by the one we shared last spring, but that one signaled an end. This one represents a beginning.

When we pull apart I know – for me, at least – it's only because we need a chance to breathe. Our foreheads are pressed together but I can see Pam's eyes are still closed. I attempt to extract my hand from her hair as gently as possible, then bring it to her chin and run my thumb over her slightly swollen lower lip. She smiles and opens her eyes. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," she says breathlessly.

A lump rises in my throat as I smile back. "Me too," I whisper against her lips and we come together again. This time it's slow and deliberate, breaking up long, deep stretches with soft kisses. I don't know if minutes are passing or hours; I'm not totally sure where I am. All I know is her. I feel one of her hands linger on my neck, then make its way into my hair. The other is squeezing my shoulder, then brushing across my shoulder blade. Mine travel over her face, down her arms, and rest against the small of her back and her hip. Her tongue carries the bitter taste of beer, and knowing I taste the same to her is more of a turn on than you'll ever know. I hesitantly let one hand slip under the hem of her shirt, my index finger grazing the small of her back. When I hear (and, dear God, _feel_) her moan softly I quickly press both palms against her back and run them up and down her spine. Not breaking the kiss, I feel her bring her arms between the two of us and toy with the top button of my shirt. I instinctively tighten my grip on her and move to kiss her neck, and she takes my hint to continue what she's doing. She quickly makes her way down the placard and slips the shirt over my shoulders, and I stop kissing her only long enough to pull it all the way off. Once I do our lips crash together and her hands sneak under my t-shirt. Her hands, which felt warm before, feel amazingly cool against my chest. I don't know how it happens, exactly, but in the next moment she's leaning back against the arm of the sofa and I'm over her, my knee positioned between hers. Suddenly we get more daring – a hand strokes a thigh, a finger hooks in a waistband. My hand has crept up the front of her shirt and I just barely skim the lace of her bra. There are more moans and sighs, which in turn give both of us more courage. I suddenly get a brief moment of clarity and take in where we're at. Pam pauses too and looks up at me.

She looks happily dazed – her eyes are glassy and her cheeks are flushed. I know I probably have the same expression on my face. My hand is currently under her skirt, resting against her upper thigh. She has one hand on my belt buckle and one under my shirt. I know that if we start again, we'll sleep together. That's all there is to it. Having been in love with Pam for so many years, making love to her is something I've thought about more than I care to admit. It's something that I want to do more than almost anything, but I don't think we can let it happen tonight. I know it would be wonderful, and amazing, and every other adjective you can think of. I also know that it just isn't a great idea to start a relationship on that foot. If what we have is real – and I believe with all my heart it is – there'll be plenty of time for that in the days to come. I don't want it to be a snap decision.

That doesn't mean this isn't _hard_ _as_ _hell_, though.

Summoning _every_ ounce of willpower I possess, I bring my hand to her face instead and give her a smile. "I think maybe I should get going," I say softly, stroking her cheek and watching her eyes for any sign of hurt. She blinks once and her eyes seem to come back into focus. There's a long pause, but she finally nods.

"Okay," Pam agrees, placing her hand over mine, and I can tell she knows why I suggested it. I give her one more kiss, then we slowly sit back up. I put my shirt back on in silence, but she lets out a laugh. "Look!" She's pointing at the coffee table. Two tiny pigs are balancing precariously, each resting on one ear and its snout. I laugh too – it's a Double Leaning Jowler, hands down the hardest roll in the game. In all our hours of play we'd never gotten even one. Pam smiles beautifully. "What are the odds?" I laugh again, then take her hand as I stand up. We walk together to the door and she holds my one hand with both of hers as I slip my shoes on. Once I'm done I take her in my arms.

"Thank you, for tonight," she says in a whisper. I kiss the top of her head.

"Thank you too."

Pam pulls away from me and leans against the doorframe. I do the same, facing her. "Karen will be back tomorrow?" she asks, her eyes shifting to the ground before she meets my gaze again. I just nod, taking her hand. She slowly nods too, biting her lip. I squeeze her hand.

"It's going to be all right," I assure her. She smiles faintly.

"I know, I just…" She shrugs. "I just want to be ready."

I smile too and dip my head. "Don't worry," I whisper in her ear, giving her a soft kiss and opening the door. "Good night," I tell her as I turn to go. Before I can take another step I feel her grab my hand. In a flash she's in front of me, standing on tiptoes in bare feet. She pulls my lips to hers and surprises me with a searing kiss.

"Good night," she seconds after we part, darting back into the house before I can respond. I take a deep breath and walk to my car, grinning like a fool.


	6. Epilogue

"Hello?"

"Hey Beesly."

"Oh, hey Jim."

"I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"No, just having a boring night at home. Same as usual."

"You didn't do anything fun tonight?"

"Lemme think…nope. Not a thing."

"Oh. Well that's too bad."

"You're not hanging out in a parking lot again, are you?"

"Funny enough, I am."

"You need to break that habit. You're going to start creeping people out."

"You're probably right. Thanks for the advice."

"No problem. Hey, speaking of advice, how'd that date turn out?"

"Not too bad. Actually, pretty damn great, if I do day so myself."

"Congratulations."

"Yeah. I'd have to rank it…well, at least in my top fifty dates of all time."

"You've been _on _fifty dates?"

"Wow. Uncalled for."

"Sorry. Good for you. Do you think you'll see her again?"

"Well, that's what I'm calling for. I need one last bit of that good advice."

"Sure."

"I was wondering if it'd be too forward to call her and ask her to keep her entire weekend open."

"I don't think so, no."

"Do you think she'd want to spend that much time with me?"

"I think she'd be thrilled to, unless she discovered something really, _really _embarrassing about you on the date…y'know, like that you read—"

"Thankfully, nothing like that happened. _At_ _all_."

"Oh good. Then yes, I think you could consider her yours for the weekend."

"Awesome. Then it looks like I've got an amazing weekend to look forward to. How about you?"

"Eh. I'm sure it'll be okay. Nothing special."

"That's too bad. I hope that changes."

"You never know."

"All right, well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow. Thanks for your help."

"It's my pleasure. See you in the morning."

"'Night, Beesly."

"'Night, Jim."


End file.
